Rosalie's Letter
by scattynat
Summary: I found Rosalie to be the character who had undergone the most personal development in the series and I particularly liked the damaged, genteel, old-fashioned soldier she treated in episode 6. Here's my take on their story. (It's my 1st ever Fanfiction - please be gentle with me!)


Chapter 1 - The First Letter

* * *

"Letter for you, Miss Berwick", called the Postal officer, in what had quickly become his regular call out to her. Rosalie took the letter and frowned. As an avid letter writer and correspondent to many acquaintances, she prided herself on instantly recognizing the writer of each letter as she scanned the envelope. However, she couldn't place either the handwriting or the postal mark on this one. How strange! She placed the letter into her pocket until she could get some free time to read it at leisure.

The day was proving to be a very taxing one, with little opportunity for rest. After a gruelling 10 hours on her feet dealing with the casualties of the latest 'big push', she was longing to sit down. Kitty and Flora had recently been dismissed for the night. It must be her turn soon, surely? She'd got as far as pulling out a chair when Matron summoned her for yet another round of bedpan duties. It was no good: she'd just have to save the letter until after her shift. Normally, the anticipation would be something she would enjoy. A naturally patient, obliging person, it pleased her to have something to look forward to that was just for her enjoyment. However, she usually knew what to expect, both from the letter and the letter writer. It was the sheer mystery of this that was making her uncharacteristically frustrated. Who on earth could have written it?

Finally, she found herself being relieved by the nurses on the early shift. She walked over to the mess tent – she wouldn't be able to sleep now, even though her body was aching for it: Her mind was far too awake. The mess tent was deserted but for a couple of orderlies and a few night shift workers. Spotting the wonderful, welcome sight of a freshly-brewed urn full of tea and a pile of cold, beef sandwiches near the entrance, she took a plate and a sandwich, poured herself a cup of tea, then settled into a corner near the log burner to read the letter.

_7th April 1916_

_Dear Miss Berwick,_

_Forgive me my impertinence for writing to you without invitation. I don't know whether you will remember me: My name is Greville_ _Parry, I was a stretcher bearer with the 5th_ _Regiment_ _and_ _was_ _brought into_ _your hospital during November of 1915, suffering amnesia and fever as a result of infected Rat bites_ _._ _You_ _very_ _kindly nursed_ _me back to health_ _and repaired_ _my spectacles for me._ _Although we did introduce ourselves at the time, I was unable to thank you properly for your kindness and assistance before being sent back to the front._

_Unfortunately, a few months after my return_ _to the front, I got caught in another shell attack, which resulted in my sustaining permanent damage to my sight (although you will probably be surprised to hear, the reparations you made to my spectacles remained intact!). The damage to my sight was such that I have now been invalided_ _out of the army and have returned to Pontefract to work_ _in my father_'_s Watchmakers business, as I did before the war. However, since my sight is so poor, I have had my role reduced somewhat (watchmaking requires precision and is largely reliant on sight). Consequently, I have much more time on my hands than expected and wished to take this opportunity to thank you. _

_I hope you are well,_ _Miss Berwick._ _I wish you a pleasant and prosperous future and_ _I am grateful for the trouble you have taken in reading this letter. I hope the impertinence was not too great? _

_Please do not be alarmed: I do not expect a Lady such as yourself_ _to reply (although a return letter would of course be most welcome)._

_Yours sincerely, your_ _humble correspondent,_

_Greville_ _Parry_

Rosalie put the letter down and smiled gently to herself. What a polite and kind letter! Of course she remembered him. He had been the first man she'd properly seen naked: The thought of which made her blush instantly. Although she'd seen many naked men since (and had now had a lot of experience in the art of giving bed-baths), her sensibilities were still strong enough to cause embarrassment, although that sense was gradually diminishing with every new bed-bath recipient. Still, it was all down to him (albeit unknowingly on his part) that she'd had the courage to confront her demons. Her mind wandered back to when she had first arrived back in the summer of 1915 as a naïve 30-year old; prim, easily shocked and so very, very, proper. Back then, the prospect of receiving an unexpected and unsolicited letter – from a man – would have been unthinkable to her,scandalous even. But Rosalie was becoming inured to the gradual shedding of her former rigid sensibilities with every day that passed here. This turbulent, busy, VAD life was a world so far away, both literally and figuratively from the constrained, seemingly endless, dull, drawing rooms of home.

She looked down at the letter again. The handwriting was so unexpectedly even and neat. It must have taken him a great deal of time and effort, considering how poor his sight must be. (It would have to be very bad if his own father had demoted him from his former role). Folding the letter shut, she came to a decision: She would reply to him. She believed she owed him that. After all, it didn't have to mean anything did it? It wasn't as outrageous a prospect as it would once have been. This was wartime after all. The old order was changing, as Sister Livesey had proudly told her all those months ago.

Noticing the time (the entire hospital would be bustling with activity in the next few hours), Rosalie cleared away her cup and plate and walked back to the sleeping tent. Quietly slipping into the tent, she saw that Kitty and Flora were in a deep sleep - a fact that Flora's snores had alerted her to before she'd even come within 10 yards of the tent. (It had become something of a running joke now between the three of them). She smiled at the thought of their friendship and the new-found intimacy between the three of them. After getting off on the wrong foot with both women at the start, their experiences here had reconciled them and they had become firm wonderful, that such friendships could exist in a place as alien and bleak as this, she thought. Another snore broke through her reverie. It was no good; she'd never be able to sleep through that. She sat on her bed and retrieved writing paper and a pen from her correspondence box under the bed. There was no light in the tent, (and a light spotted in a sleeping quarter at this hour would be frowned upon and probably get her reported to Matron) so she'd have to go back to the mess tent.

She walked back into the mess tent, poured herself a fresh cup of tea and returned to her recently vacated spot. Laying the writing paper on the table, she got out her pen and began to write.

'Dear Mr Parry', ...


End file.
